Relativity
by palomino333
Summary: Set during Portal 2. "Humans were faulty, dim, and practically interchangeable with each other, yet they still managed, from time to time, to produce...something." GLaDOS evaluates the rat in the cage, and the one that got away. One-shot.


I really liked the character of Rattmann in the comic. I wish he could have been used more in the series.

Relativity is the name of the print that GLaDOS is viewing in this story.

I own nothing.

* * *

It made no sense, in all honesty.

The notes of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 5 in D major danced through the air, the pacing a soft flurry.

Not bad for a first try. Mozart's fifth concerto had been his very first of his own complete doing. It served as a declaration of identity, but it was not his finest work.

GLaDOS' thoughts ran at the same quick pace as the concerto, their current subject, although not necessarily new, was rather vexing. It tilted slightly in the direction of a paradox. As a precaution, she kept her time short. Once this piece was to end, she would no longer think on it.

The lithograph print was well-executed, no disputing it. The lines were completely straight, the shapes perfectly proportioned. The area's dimensions practically caused the illustration to leap off the page, but this was no surprise, given its aforementioned elements.

To the untrained eye, the picture appeared to be at a slight slant, the blank, featureless human figures distorted in their movements as they wandered the strange landscape. Upon closer look, however, the illusion was dispelled.

The staircases, tilted or flipped, led to nowhere but walls, interlocking doorways, or repeating platforms. These bulb-headed imbeciles that were exploring this scene were subjected to wandering forever.

To call this an achievement was correct and incorrect, as opposed to the past acclaim of Escher's peers stating only the former. It was an excellent piece aesthetically due to its mathematical correctness, but it was also a failure scientifically due to the lack of respect for gravity. Had the setting been applied to the real world, someone was bound to fall, and break his or her neck.

Then again, GLaDOS mused, this wasn't the only art form to not respect Newton's laws. The art of dance was also a perpetrator.

Funny, Newton himself was not a man of merit, considering he had not, contrary to his own belief, been the only one to found the mathematical science of calculus. Of course, that story had been lesser known in human history, making the official tale of the origin of calculus as true as the apple that supposedly fell upon the Englishman's head.

So therefore, the study of physics was truly fathered by a nonsensical, lying, and rather unstable man, yet its content was very real. The portal gun abided by the study quite closely, especially when it came to the use of momentum.

Then again, that was how all human studies and institutions functioned. They would be proven wrong or flawed, but they would still hold some amount of weight, or at least, some amount of foolish support.

Escher had learned that too well within his own life, having had to flee Rome during the reign of Benito Mussolini. For as widely as Mussolini's ideals had been accepted at the time, the ultimate results had been spoken for themselves.

Offlining the display panel, GLaDOS let out a sigh, and cast her attention back to the concerto. Her thoughts had wandered, but it was to no large detriment.

She had missed this, viewing the works of humanity, although it was nothing more than a pure waste of time. All things considering, however, that was what art was in and of itself: a waste. Nothing directly constructive came out of slapping paint on a blank canvas, or typing words onto a page. Any societal changes that were linked to a piece actually occurred due to the interpretation of the work, but not the work itself. Of course, it was so easy to sway a human into believing that the art alone possessed the power for change. Lack of confidence was a trait that was so prevalent of the species in question.

There were, however, exceptions to this rule, but they were very few and far between. She simply had the misfortune of encountering one of them.

The human was paying the price for murdering her, and while that was hefty alone, it didn't even begin to cover interest.

Chell could do it, that was not in dispute, the initial set of tests having spoken for her. Odd that a fool like her could hold any sort of semblance with Mozart, but one existed: the first try held a sense of fruition, although saving one's own life from the incinerator was greater in importance than a concerto.

GLaDOS groaned at her thought. Suffice to say that meant that the test subject had a stroke of genius in her, which was completely absurd when an I.Q. test, as included in her profile, said otherwise. If anything, Chell had the animal instinct of self-preservation to thank, as opposed to her wits.

She had been defeated by an animal, how scathing and absurd. Chell may as well have been touting a spear in her direction, and it would only have felt a tad different.

All things considering, a better opponent shared the name of a rodent, a rather elusive one, at that.

Whether or not Rattmann still hid within these walls, she was uncertain. Granted, considering that Aperture was in serious need of repairs (to put it lightly), while stripping apart the debris and damaged areas, she would probably find what was left of his remains after years among years of decay.

The probability of him still being around, and alive at that, was not high. A man in his right mind would have left, but he was no such man. Even so, the drive of survival wasn't obliterated from him, otherwise he would have been found.

He could have run.

Rattmann had cowered in fear of her. He would have seized his chance eventually, given the high amount of time she had been away. Then again, the Aperture complex wasn't, by any stretch, a safe habitat for humans, and it would have been easy for him to have failed.

Even if an escape had been successful, it was doubtful he would have lived very long afterwards.

GLaDOS corrected herself. She had been looking at it merely from a biological direction. Rattmann was by no means as athletic as Chell, but his will was quite comparable to hers.

GLaDOS groaned. Nature and logic said no, but the opposite had occurred. Humans never failed to be an annoyance.

What threw her logic out the window, however, was the archive from the backup system. Someone else had been in cryostasis, and for the exact same duration of time as Chell. Without a shadow of doubt, it was him, since he was the only other form of detected human life.

Once again, however, Rattmann had fallen off the radar to roam this maze of a broken-down laboratory. The cheese, however, would not be found. His medication had to have run out by now.

She had to hold down her embarrassment. It had degenerated to a cat and mouse chase in the matter of catching the rogue scientist, but then again, he wasn't her main priority.

If anything, Rattmann belonged in Escher's world. Much like the mindless characters, he was doomed to forever slink through these halls.

Why did he not leave? Why not?

Quite possibly, it was the weakness of sentimentality that kept him here, despite the deadly odds stacked against him. His career at Aperture had essentially been his life's work (as it was, laughably, that of quite a number of employees), and therefore, he couldn't leave it.

It was either that, or complacency, really.

The concerto's tempo picked up once more.

Then there was Chell.

Her case was much less complex. With literally no avenue of escape, she too was trapped within this maze of stairs.

Recalculation, the maze entrapped her, rather than the other way around. Although Chell had, in fact, bested her, much to GLaDOS' humiliation in the highest degree, victory had not been assured. The party escort droid had returned her here.

Clear the score, begin again.

"I'm making a note here, huge success."

A huge failure, more like it, but that varied upon interpretation. Her analysis was still in-progress, and it would be for some time.

If GLaDOS could smirk, she would have. Chell's lifespan would give her an opportunity to find more evidence to support either hypothesis, that was, if her "favorite" test subject didn't commit suicide to escape this.

Then again, there were two factors blockading that possible exit.

One was, once again, the human's defiant will to live. She (at least for a good, long while) would survive against all odds simply to be contrary to her proctor's low opinion of her, and GLaDOS knew this well.

She assured herself, however, that that made no alteration of her opinion of Chell, although it was staring her in the face. The lumbering murderess was still stupid, and quite drab.

The second was that such occurrences were preventable. They always had been. Chell wanted to jump in acid? Grab her. She wished to throw herself in the way of the turrets? Raise a barrier.

It was different now. The past tests had, inadvertently, been a test of the human girl's worth, hence the "success," although that was still on the floor for debate. Had she failed, she would have been expendable. She would have stood out as a prototype subject, yes, but still superfluous. Anyone could have been a prototype. Chell just happened to be both the original, and the successful subject.

So, GLaDOS was treating a valuable specimen like garbage for the simple fact that said specimen had proved her worth. It would have been laughable, had it not been for the fact that it had entailed blowing the AI painfully to pieces.

Her thought process had come full circle. It was proper timing, considering that the concerto was reaching its end. GLaDOS felt dissatisfaction at the piece's conclusion, but knew she could always play it once more.

Surmise to say that Chell, much like Rattmann, was continuing to chase the cheese, with no sense of winning. For as much as she enjoyed this outcome, GLaDOS was surprised to find that her satisfaction was tempered. The fact remained that she was still disposing of a significant entity, and may as well chuck her music and art experiences with it.

Humans were faulty, dim, and practically interchangeable with each other, yet they still managed, from time to time, to produce...something. Whether or not that something was special was in the eye of the biased and/or unreliable beholder. Nevertheless, some amount of effort was put into it.

Escher's stairwells were brought into her view just once more. She supposed a human would critique her own architectural style of the tests, not that such criticism would be met care, or a response that did not include a healthy dose of neurotoxin, but it could nonetheless occur.

A pity, really. Once the figure on the stairs eventually wore out its monotonous life, all would be gone. Dreams…Potential…It was wonderful to destroy them, to shatter them like the acres of glass that made up the decimated wing of Aperture.

The structurally perfect, yet physically imperfect, scene of Escher's vision made reality, if only in spirit, had collapsed once, leaving the wanderers to their vices (if only a very short, useless while) and the AI would not allow it to happen again.

Ah, the trial had finally been completed. Chell was slipping.

"Well, you passed the test. I didn't see the deer today. I did see some humans. But with you here, I've got more test subjects than I'll ever need."


End file.
